


More Than A Dirty Toilet

by rlwrites (braverybros)



Series: Candy Canes and Silver Lanes [2]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:15:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23608186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braverybros/pseuds/rlwrites
Summary: This is a partial section of Ch3 from The 12 Pubs of Christmas from Niall's POV
Relationships: Niall Horan/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Candy Canes and Silver Lanes [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1699300
Kudos: 2





	More Than A Dirty Toilet

Niall’s stomach is jittery when he pulls her up from her chair and he has to swallow hard to make sure he doesn’t throw up. Isa has always made him nervous as hell and it usually makes him act like a tit, which is unfortunately no different tonight when he grips her shoulders and says something ridiculous and flirty on their way to the toilet.

Isa’s laugh is breathy and tickles along his arms, making the hair there stand up. It can’t be a chill in the air considering the fact that his body feels like it’s on fire, but the only other explanation is one he can’t quite accept yet. In fact, there’s little else he’s thinking about other than the fact that they’re heading to the toilet together. He just hopes he doesn’t do something completely humiliating like pop a semi while he’s in his pants.

Isa looks small and wide-eyed when they finally get into the toilet. It’s a single room, which certainly isn’t helping the stirring he’s fighting in his stomach. He hopes she doesn’t hear the strangled breath he nearly chokes out when he clicks the lock on the door.

Niall is so nervous, he feels like he wants to climb right out of his skin. He’s imagined this sort of situation plenty of times, although they were all admittedly much less innocent in nature. Niall fights every single instinct in his body to try and drag this moment out. Part of him wants wants _needs_ to ignore his the boots he’s trying to unlace and go over and push her against the wall; he’s wanted to do that very same thing for so long, but he knows that wouldn’t be quite right.

Isa deserves way more than a dirty toilet. She deserves candlelight and romance and all those cheesy things he always rolled his eyes over when his mam watched romance movies on the telly at home. She deserves champagne and strawberries and soft, sweet kisses, and maybe, just maybe, he’ll be able to give them to her. But that won’t come from a drunken, trouser-less snog.

So he strips out of his jeans as quick as he can, prays she can’t see the semi that he is, in fact, sporting, and keeps his eyes respectfully on the ceiling.

“You surprise me, Niall Horan.”

He doesn’t expect her to talk, although he does suppose the silence was getting a little awkward. But now that she has, any pause feels like it’s screaming loud and Niall rushes to fill them.

“Surprise you how?”

“Surprised you’re not taking this opportunity to leer like a creep.”

He hates that he can hear her smirk in her voice, hates the way it’s gonna be stuck in the back of his head for a long, long time, hates that it does funny things to his ability to formulate clear thoughts. In fact, it’s distracting him so fully that he forgets that he’s not supposed to be looking at her when he shoots back, “I am _not_ a creep, thank you very much.”

She’s struggling to get her foot out of her trousers, hopping on one foot as she tugs the fabric, which is a bit cute. It’s also an image he knows is going to cause problems for him later, one that’s helplessly adorable because of the dimple she gets in her cheek when she bites her lip in concentration but also maddeningly arousing because of the skin of her thighs and the flash of teal he can’t allow himself to investigate further.

“Well, thanks. Is what I’m trying to say. Lesser men wouldn’t have been as considerate.”

He feels like a real asshole now. “Yeah, well…don’t call me a saint just yet. I might have…accidentally peeked.”

He should look away, he really should. Actually, he should lock himself up for the teal-and-skin-centered thoughts that are running through his head right now, but there’s something in the way she’s looking back at him. Something in the way he can tell she’s smiling because of the skin that tightens around her beautiful brown eyes. Something else there that he can’t quite identify yet. Or maybe he’s just too afraid to.

“Here.” She’s shoving her trousers into his hands, pulling his own out of his hand and setting them both in automatic motion. He slides hers on and throws on his boots, the silence ringing in his ears and stirring up his nerves again. He can feel something stupid and flirty and cocky crawling up his throat again, something that usually happens when he feels nervous that he’s gonna bugger something up. His words escape before he can stop them.

“Your arse looks way better in these than mine does.”

The second they’re out, he feels like slapping himself, but instead he tries to cover it up the best way he knows how: humour. He sticks his arse out, pretending to be discontent with how tiny it looks.

“Aww, don’t worry, Niall. Your arse is still cute in them.”

The silence is explosive and all he can do is stare at her.

“I…erm…I didn’t—“

“Thanks.” He doesn’t know how or when he gets closer, but when she shivers, he shrugs out of his flannel and drops it over her shoulders.

“Thanks,” she whispers back.

He can’t help it, when his eyes drop down to her lips. He’s been eyeing them all night, the red of her lipstick only making it harder for him to ignore how he’s always wondered if they feel as soft as they look. He barely even realises that he’s got his pointer finger curled under her chin, his thumb lightly tracing over the fullness of her bottom lip. He wants to kiss her so bad it’s almost maddening, but then the buzzing of the overhead light finally seeps into his cognition and he remembers that she deserves better, that he wants to give her _better_.

Because he’s still not strong enough to pull away just yet, he presses his mouth against her cheek. She smells like amber and vanilla and heat. It’s a struggle, when he pulls back, because it’s the absolute last thing he really wants to be doing and his head feels thick and heavy, but he does it anyway.

Niall pretends like everything that happened in the last thirty seconds didn’t just short-circuit his brain. He pretends like the faint flush in Isa’s cheeks isn’t the cutest thing he’s ever seen. He pretends like he hasn’t fallen arse over tit in love with how Isa looks in his trousers.

So he lies, tells her he merely likes her in them, because the truth is that he’d like to see her in them for the rest of his life, but he obviously can’t tell her that. Not yet, anyway. So he smiles, grabs her hand, prays that his isn’t disgustingly clammy, and pulls her out of the toilet and back to the table.


End file.
